


no tenderness

by 10redplums



Series: planes campaign fic [9]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: A little drinking, Canon-Typical Violence, Hate Sex, M/M, canon-typical bad families, past transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:27:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28733436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/10redplums/pseuds/10redplums
Summary: Traine and Miles come to clash over what Joan and the cause really mean to them.Or "And they were foils. Oh my god, they were foils."
Series: planes campaign fic [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2044054
Kudos: 1
Collections: Banned Together Bingo 2020





	no tenderness

**Author's Note:**

> 1) my other option was Armand’s complicated feelings about his family as is the birthright of all of my characters except possibly Morgaine and Maribelle, or Garfield u-hauling which is super cute, but I guess I leaned super hard on this instead?  
> 2) the mechanisms understand that sometimes you can just put really sick guitar in places and that’s fine, you don’t need the blow-by-blow of a fight scene to know it was epic. Unfortunately, I can’t play guitar.

The first time it happens, it doesn’t happen.

Traine is in his room, a little flushed, a little disheveled. When he opens his mouth Miles can smell the wine.

“I hate you,” he says. Good thesis statement. Traine shoves him, and then pushes him up against the wall- fuck, he’s way too close. “ _ I hate you _ ,” he says again. That’s- understandable, Miles wouldn’t be the first to admit he’s a jackass but only because some people are just waiting for the opportunity, but he’d love to know what brought this on. Given his state, Traine might just tell him.

“You’re very drunk, sir,” Miles says, trying to pry Traine’s hands away from his collar. For a soft nerd he’s got quite the grip. 

“You- I know your name,” Traine says. “You went to the same school I did. Good parents, good family.” He knows  _ nothing _ about Miles. If Traine knew his parents he’d know why Miles left. “Why are you  _ here, _ ” he spits out. Miles holds his tongue. “I gave up-  _ everything _ , for this. You threw it all away and for what? Violence? The chance to feel powerful? I know how your type talks.”

Your type. Your type. It’s amusing and gratifying in its way to have Traine think he’s anything like those brutes who are in this for their own pride. Miles knows that class of man. Has grown up around that class of man. Miles just wants the world to  _ hurt.  _ He thinks he’s exercising a lot of restraint right now, much better than men of his type. He knows how they talk, too. More than a few would like to punch Sir in the mouth.

But Traine is still going, and Miles learns how he talks too. 

“I’m never going to see my sister again,” he says, and. Miles feels his pain acutely and shoves it aside. Traine gave up his sister. Miles left his family. Neither of them has any right to feel grief. “What do  _ you _ want? What do you believe in?”

“Joan is the only thing I’ve ever had any faith in,” he says. Traine’s mouth twists and he catches Miles looking, and he snarls at him and shoves him away. Miles- catches his hand. “If you believe nothing else, believe that. I would do anything for him.”

“I gave- I gave him everything,” Traine says, dragging a hand through his hair. “What do  _ you  _ know about him?”

Miles doesn’t have an answer for that.

The second time it happens, it  _ does _ happen.

The training arena is empty and Miles lets himself try different techniques out and fail without fear. His invisible servant takes notes on his adjustments as he calls them out. He destroys his last target with always-reliable fire.

“Show me what you can really do,” Traine says, as Miles whirls in his direction with one hand crackling. He doesn’t flinch at all, just stays leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Miles puts his hand down, the words of a spell dying in his throat.

Traine pushes away from the wall, circling Miles slowly. Hands behind his back, chin level, steps deliberate. It makes him look stately, dignified. In control. Miles knows that trick. Has grown up recognizing that trick. Traine needs a cane in his hand to complete the picture.

“You’ve seen what I can really do, sir,” Miles says. Turns on the spot to follow Traine.

“I want to see that power you’re so proud of,” Traine says. “During training you do what is asked of you, nothing less, nothing more.  _ Show me what you can really do. _ ”

The power washes over Miles and he knows if it were anyone else they’d buckle at the knees, do anything for Traine. This is an oversight in the organization’s information that needs to be rectified; trickery is in his blood though he personally has no taste for it. Sir slams a few other angles at him, the commands fruitlessly ringing in the air as Miles braces himself. 

Traine switches tactics, hands flicking through spells that slow down Miles’s reactions, slow his casting down. Watches what Miles will do, ready to dodge.

Well. If you can burn the width of the room, you don’t need to be fast. The subsequent path of flame cuts off Traine’s route to the door for a moment before a wave of Traine’s hand douses it. Well.

His vision swims and he staggers, and- he laughs. “When will you learn!” He doesn’t need to  _ aim. _

Finally,  _ finally  _ little shots come at him from- somewhere, he can’t turn his head in time to catch them and anyway if he did he‘d probably see four where there’s only one. But Traine is starting to meet him violence for violence, which is  _ great.  _ Miles whirls, fire streaming from his fingers as his vision clears again and his mind catches up to current events, and he laughs again.

And then Traine says something Miles will never forgive him for, and Miles  _ burns _ .

He breathes out sparks in his rage and an inferno blazes from his hands, and he sees Traine take a step back.  _ Good. _ But the part of him that’s always watching notes that Traine’s managed to get under his skin after all.

“I left because I hated them! I hated them more than I hated myself!” Fuck. “Their  _ perfect _ little daughter, smarter and more powerful than anyone else!” He sees Traine  _ look  _ at him and he  _ hates  _ him for it. “Your goals are mine! You’ll get your precious little sister back! Isn’t that enough!” Isn’t that enough.

He fires off several shots that surround Traine in flames that lick at him but don’t burn, for the pleasure seeing Traine’s eyes widen in fear and he bares his teeth at him, and he lunges through the fire and grabs Traine’s collar to- to what.

There is a word he could use, over and over, to cut Traine. To make him hurt. He knows the pain Traine respects is pain with insight, with words meant to strike at the heart, but he doesn’t care. Doesn’t want Traine to respect him. If he’ll hurt, he’ll hurt on Miles’s terms. But in the indecision the moment passes and Traine shoves him away, sending him crashing into a training dummy.

Traine shoots lightning at him and he screams and laughs through the pain, perversely delighted at Traine  _ really _ stooping to his level. He wreathes himself in flame and startles, for a moment. It’s a terrible thing to grow up and realize you’re more powerful than your father. Traine matches him, beautiful and terrible, and Miles laughs.

They end up on the floor, just two men scrabbling in the dirt, and where Traine is the better caster here Miles has the advantage, and the tussle ends with Miles sitting on Traine’s hips pinning his hands over his head. Traine’s chest heaves as he gulps down greedy breaths, and his eyes are bright in the light of everything Miles set on fire.

He’s hard.

“I- I’m sorry,” Traine says. “This doesn’t mean anything. I-”

“It’s fine,” Miles says. He grinds down gently and Traine gasps, and Miles loosens his grip. Raises his weight. Enough that Traine can throw him off.

He lies there long enough that scenarios whirl in Miles’s head. Should he leave? Should he stay? Make the first move? He knows the same is happening to Traine.

Slowly, slowly, he removes his hands. Sees Traine bite his lip. Puts his hands just beside Traine’s wrists and watches him stay where he is. 

Grinds down.

Traine takes a shuddering breath and Miles watches the delicate fans of his eyelashes sweep down, sandy blond circles against his flushed cheeks. 

“This never happened.”

“I still hate you,” Traine says.

“That’s fine,” Miles says. The feeling is mutual. He stays there, rocking gently, growing wet in his underwear, and- Traine puts his hands on his hips and drives Miles down hard on Traine’s erection, and- well. That’s something.

And Miles bears down, rutting against Traine and driving him to  _ moaning gasping messy  _ completion, and then it’s over. Bats Sir’s hand away gently when he tries to touch Miles’s face.

“You- you didn’t- finish,” he says, and Miles looks away. “Did this do anything for you at all?” Miles is pretty sure he’s soaked through his underwear at least, and really the fact that he hasn’t left Traine in the dust should be all he needs, but. There’s no way in hell he’s admitting to that. Traine will have to rip his pants open himself.

Traine himself seems to have realized this; he rolls them over and Miles lets him, curious to see what he’ll do. Traine bites his lip, and Miles wiggles his hips before Traine can reconsider.

“This doesn’t have to mean anything,” Miles says, and, “I can still hate you.”

“That’s-  _ fine, _ ” Traine says, and does rip his pants open. What he’ll do, apparently, is fuck Miles with his fingers right there in the dust of the arena, until Miles is a similar wreck. His handsome mouth twists again as he kneels there sitting on his heels and Miles, generous in his satisfaction, spells away the mess. He does the same for Traine.

In the morning Traine will go back to hating him, and this will have never happened. In the morning, Miles will go back to chasing Joan’s shadow. They’ll be professional.

He admits to himself that he’d like to see more of that violence from Traine, though. It’d probably be good for the man, too. Who knows how many knots there are in his back?

“This doesn’t mean anything,” Traine says. Miles wants to believe him.


End file.
